It's a Palindromic Life
by Nancy Kaminski
Summary: "Last Knight" left us all wondering what happened after Lacroix raised the Shillelagh o' Doom over Nick's back. Well, here it is, and nothing is as it seems!


=====================================================================  
It's a Palindromic Life  
  
by Nancy Kaminski  
(c) November 1998  
  
=====================================================================  
  
For six years, vampire cop Nicholas Knight and Toronto coroner Dr.  
Natalie Lambert had searched for a way to make the 800-year-old  
vampire mortal once again. Though faced with opposition from all  
sides and seemingly insurmountable obstacles, they persevered.   
  
However, in the end, their mutual frustration with the status quo got  
the better of their good sense (and survival instincts). They decided  
to try the most unscientific, unbelievable cure possible. And, as is  
wont to occur with many impromptu experiments, something went awry.  
  
When last we saw our star-crossed lovers, Natalie was apparently dead  
on the floor of the loft, and Nick was preparing to meet his Maker.  
His original Maker, that is---Lacroix, of course, was already there.  
  
But, Gentle Reader, all is not as it seems. Let us fast-forward one  
month...  
  
~~~~~  
  
"Ngungh."   
  
The passing nurse stopped short and leaned backward to peer into the  
room.   
  
"Ngh-ngh-ummpf."   
  
She hurried into the room and peered at the patient's face. He made  
another noise and twitched, then his eyelids fluttered. She watched  
him for a minute, then went to call his doctor.  
  
Nick Knight, one of the more decorative fixtures on the coma ward,  
was finally waking up.  
  
~~~~~  
  
He became aware he was lying somewhere. Random noises filtered into  
his groggy brain. He struggled to crack open his eyes, and when he  
finally managed to, splotches of color and bright light swam in and  
out of focus.   
  
It was too tiring, and it didn't seem to be worth the effort. He let  
his eyes slam shut. But his brain was working again, and it started  
wondering what that constant noise was, that ba-bump ba-bump that  
echoed in his head. He couldn't get away from it, and it was very  
annoying.   
  
A tiny voice far down in the depths of his mind whispered the word  
'heart' but of course that couldn't be true. However...  
  
The damned noise just wouldn't quit. Could it be? In the end he  
ignored it and went to sleep.  
  
~~~~~  
  
The next time he opened his eyes, a face was hovering over his. The  
face made a loud noise, then attached itself to his mouth, blocking  
out everything else, not unlike a total eclipse. After the initial  
shock, Nick decided it was rather nice.   
  
When the suction ceased the face reappeared. "Nick!" it exclaimed.  
"You're awake!" It lowered towards him again, and he braced himself  
for the pleasurable onslaught. But it just whispered, "You're human!  
Janette's cure worked, just like we hoped it would!"   
  
The face finally resolved into Natalie, hair shining like a halo, a  
sloppy, teary grin on her face. With an almost audible 'click' Nick's  
mental lightbulb came on, and he remembered everything.   
  
The loft...Natalie pleading with him to make love, but only take a  
little...losing control...Lacroix making speeches about peaches and  
life, and...(What did Lacroix know about peaches? He could never have  
eaten one. Or was he referring to the shape? Nick's brain took a  
little detour to consider peach fuzz and that peculiar crease every  
peach features, shied away from *that* implication, then returned to  
the matter at hand)...Natalie dead...wanting to die...Lacroix lifting  
the emergency stake/shillelagh...an enormous pain in his head...  
  
The old vulture had whacked him on the head instead of staking him!  
  
"The old vulture whacked you on the head instead of staking you,"  
Natalie whispered at him, smiling. "I've already sent him a thank-you  
card."  
  
"But, but," Nick croaked.  
  
"Oops, water." Natalie held out a glass with a straw, and he sucked  
at it gratefully. It tasted wonderful, much to his surprise.   
  
"But, but," he tried again, this time without as much gravel in his  
throat. "Weren't you dead?" he whispered hoarsely.  
  
"Nope. Oh, a little anemic, but basically okay." She poked him gently  
on the arm. "You weren't thinking too clearly there, were you?  
Honestly, Nick, check the vitals before you declare the patient dead!  
Anyway, Lacroix took us both to the hospital, muttering about peaches  
all the way." She shook her head. "I worry about that guy."  
  
Nick let that sink in. She was fine, he was human, they were both  
alive, and inexplicably she didn't loath him for what he had done.  
His thoughts went in a circle, like a dog getting ready for a nap,  
until he felt dizzy. Alive--human--alive--human. It was too much to  
take in, so he shelved the thought for a later time.   
  
His eyes wandered around the hospital room, vaguely disappointed that  
there weren't any beeping monitors like he had seen on TV. There was  
an IV bag half full of something hanging on a pole. His eyes followed  
the length of tubing, which disappeared under his blanket in the  
general vicinity of his middle.   
  
Natalie saw what he was looking at and said, "Oh, they had to give  
you a gastrostomy tube. I'm afraid your first meal---and every one  
since---has been a scientifically balanced and nutritionally complete  
liquid, administered directly to your stomach." She grinned. "In  
other words, you've been living on protein shakes. Sort of poetic  
justice, considering how you used to make those faces."  
  
He made a face. Tubes. He hated tubes, even though this was the first  
one he had ever had. Just the idea of it...yuck.   
  
"I won't tell you about the other one, then," she said, noting his  
expression, and patted his upper thigh meaningfully.  
  
Nick wrenched his mind away from tubes and back to Natalie. She was  
so cheerful--why didn't she hate him? The familiar feeling of guilt  
and angst started to engulf him.   
  
"I'm sorry," he said miserably.  
  
Natalie threw up her hands. "For what, for Pete's sake? Nick,  
everything's fine! I mean, it worked, didn't it? Okay, so I was a   
few pints low and you spent a month in a coma, but let's face it,   
I went from loving someone who was technically dead to someone who   
was only unconscious! That's a bit of an improvement, wouldn't you  
say?   
  
"So now all you have to do is get unhooked," she gestured at the IV  
stand, "and get strong enough to get out of here. And then we can  
think about having some real fun." She waggled her eyebrows  
suggestively.  
  
"Uh," he said intelligently.  
  
"Oh," she continued, 'I moved into the loft. I hope you don't mind. I  
figured it's okay, seeing as how we can get married now, and anyway,  
my apartment lease was up for renewal. Your place was so gloomy,  
though---I took the liberty of doing a little redecorating."  
  
Nick looked alarmed.  
  
"Don't worry, I used your platinum Visa," she said, completely  
misinterpreting his concern as fiscal rather than aesthetic. "That  
nice Feliks arranged it so I could sign my name to the charge slips.  
I moved a bunch of your stuff into your storage area. It's much  
cheerier now. I hope you like orange as much as I do."  
  
Nick's expression turned to one of pain. He closed his eyes.  
  
Natalie smiled fondly. "I bet you're tired, so I'll let you get back  
to sleep." She kissed him soundly. "You need to rest up for what I  
have planned for you!"  
  
Nick grunted feebly but, he hoped, enthusiastically.  
  
With a cheery wave, Natalie breezed out of his room, leaving him  
contemplating a mental picture of his nice, dark,  
almost-like-the-old-castle loft redone with dayglo orange walls and  
curtains.   
  
As he drifted off to sleep again, his final thought was, "but she  
*said* she didn't hate me..."  
  
~~~~~  
  
A week later, Nick was well into his physical therapy and completely  
disconnected from any external devices. But after almost eight  
hundred years of perfect health and fitness without having to so much  
as lift a finger, let alone a weight, he was astonished that only one  
month of lying in bed without moving had left him weak and out of  
breath at the least exertion.   
  
On the upside, though, he was learning to eat again, and sitting in  
the sun was a distinct pleasure. He figured that the decor of the  
sitting room at the end of the hall (a psychotic interior decorator's  
vision of blinding yellow, indeterminate blue, and acid green) was  
preparing him for the psychological shock of his redecorated home.   
  
As for eating, Nick didn't understand why people said so many unkind  
things about hospital food. He loved it. He had discovered the joy of  
Jell-O in all its myriad colors and flavors (none of which he could  
identify, but then, that made him no different from most of  
humanity), instant mashed potatoes, and cold dry toast.   
  
One evening at the end of his first week of conscious mortality Nick  
was chatting with Natalie in his room while gently hitting the  
evening's cube of Jell-O (lime with mandarin orange segments) with  
his spoon, just to watch it quiver---all part of the pleasure of  
eating it, to his way of thinking.   
  
Natalie was in the midst of a complicated story involving Detectives  
Morgan and Doboszinsky, a missing evidence bag, and a stray dog. She  
was just arriving at the punchline when the door banged open. She  
paused, mouth open, hands in mid-gesture, and looked up.   
  
"Hey, Nickie-boy!"  
  
Two jaws dropped, as well as a Jell-O laden spoon. Nick's  
newly-reanimated heart lurched and skipped a beat. He had no doubt  
Natalie's was performing similar gymnastics.   
  
An apparition--no, make that two apparitions--walked into his room.  
Two people who should have been dead stood at the foot of his bed,  
grinning like fools.  
  
Nick said the only thing he could think of. "Hi, Schank." Then he  
fainted.  
  
He was out only for a moment. When he opened his eyes he was  
surrounded by familiar faces. "Nat," he said faintly, "It's my past,  
come to haunt me, right? I'll be seeing Alexandra next. Or Alyssa.  
Or..."   
  
"Hell, no, pard, it's me. And Mandy--Captain Cohen, that is. We're  
really here, in the well-tanned flesh. We just blew into town from  
Vegas, heard you were in hospital, and thought we'd drop in."  
  
"Schanke, you're dead! You both were blown up in the plane crash!"  
Nick struggled to sit up. He took a closer look at his ex-partner.  
Schanke wore jeans, cowboy boots, and a plaid shirt. He *was* tanned,  
he had lost weight, and looked smugly happy. Captain Cohen looked  
equally content, although she seemed to have gained...  
  
"My God, you're pregnant!" Nick gasped.   
  
She smiled and took Schanke's hand. "We're expecting in three  
months."  
  
Schanke gathered her in. "Ain't she cute?" He ruffled her hair  
fondly.  
  
Nick and Natalie could only stare. Finally, Natalie asked the obvious  
question. "But how...?"  
  
Schanke explained, "We were supposed to be on the plane, but well,  
just going off together sort of jelled everything. There we were, in  
the airport, alone except for Dollard, and we just decided to quit  
fooling ourselves. Then they announced a flight to Vegas leaving in a  
half hour, so we handcuffed Dollard to his seat, gave a note and the  
transfer papers to the stewardess, and ran off, giggling like  
teenagers. We hopped the Vegas flight, rented a car, and headed for  
this little resort I knew about up in the mountains."  
  
Ex-Captain Cohen took up the story. "We were out of touch for just  
long enough to miss all the excitement about the crash. Then Donny  
and I decided to stay in Vegas, so we got jobs as blackjack dealers  
at Caesar's, and well," she patted her stomach, "things just took  
their natural course. I've always had a thing for this  
hunka-hunka-burnin' love, you know."  
  
Natalie frowned. "But Schank, you were always hiding from her! And  
Amanda, you were always yelling at him. I don't get it." She paused.  
"And hey, what about Myra? And Bernie?!?" Another pause. "Blackjack  
dealers?!?"  
  
The unlikely couple looked at each other. Then Schanke shrugged and  
said, "Well, Myra had been driving me crazy for years. And Bernie,  
well, he and Mandy were on the outs, too. Then we all went to one of  
those departmental picnics that you missed, Nick, and it was magic.  
Bam! Myra and Bernie, Mandy and me. It was kismet, I guess." He  
grinned suddenly. "And ya know, I really, *really* liked it when she  
yelled at me. If you catch my drift."   
  
"Oh," chorused Nick and Nat.   
  
Silence descended for a moment. Then Nick ventured, "You, uh, hid it  
pretty well."  
  
Schanke said cheerfully, "Well, Nick, you did put the 'klew' in  
'klewless,' you know." He pointed at the forgotten Jell-O. "Glad to  
see you've graduated to the solid stuff, by the way. Nice work, Nat."  
  
She said modestly, "Thanks, Schank."   
  
"So, Nick, how does it feel to join the land of the living?"  
  
Nick said guardedly, "What do you mean by that?"  
  
"Hey, c'mon, you don't think we didn't *know*, did you? I mean, the  
blood in the fridge, the night shift, and all the other stuff? Both  
Mandy and I guessed what your 'disability' really was a long time  
ago. Hell, it was hard sometimes to act dumb and buy all your  
excuses!"   
  
"Oh." Nick looked cresfallen that his act had been discovered.  
  
Schanke patted him on the shoulder. "Hey, don't feel bad. We figured  
that Nat was working out a way to cure you. I mean, we could see the  
way you guys had the hots for each other, and that there was a damn  
good reason why you didn't just hop in the sack. She was a little too  
tempting, right? Like a bedtime snack?"  
  
"Um, yeah, something like that," Nick answered faintly.  
  
Nat said brightly, "Well, there's no problem now! Just wait until we  
get him out of this hospital--which should be in a day or two, by the  
way, Nick. They trust me to take care of him and," she winked,  
"supervise his physical therapy. If you catch my drift."   
  
"Woohoo! You go, girl!" Schanke exclaimed. "Hey Nick, nice shade of  
red, there." Nick was blushing furiously at this public announcement  
of the detailed plans he and Nat had made for later that week.   
  
Amanda put her hand on her paramour's arm. "Donny, time to go. We  
should check in with the exes and see how things are going." At Nat's  
concerned look, she added, "Everything's quite amicable. The kids  
like each other and Bernie and Myra are deliriously happy together.  
In fact, we're all going on a picnic tomorrow. We're even talking  
about a joint wedding, seeing how it would be easier on all the  
mutual friends and family. Don't worry, you'll get an invitation!"  
  
They left amid a chorus of good-byes and waves. When they were gone,  
quiet descended on the room.   
  
"Well," said Nick.  
  
"Well," answered Nat.   
  
"That was---weird. I mean, who would have figured? I'm glad they're  
alive but it's just---weird."   
  
"You should talk, Nick."  
  
"I know, I know. Well, there isn't anything else that could top my  
former partner and captain both returning from the dead, tanned and  
pregnant, is there?" He reached up and kissed her. "Tomorrow, huh?  
I'm really looking forward to getting home."  
  
"You and me both, buster. The normal life is a-callin'"   
  
How little they knew.  
  
~~~~~  
  
"Oh, my." Nick put down the bag with his hospital belongings and  
turned slowly, surveying his renovated domain. The shutters were  
gone, replaced by burnt orange curtains, complemented by a matching  
area rug, cushions on the dining room chairs and the leather couch,  
and a silk flower arrangement in (surprise!) orange gracing the  
coffee table. It was an overwhelming experience. It was, he decided,  
like being on the inside of a pumpkin. He closed his eyes.  
  
"How do you like it?" Natalie looked with satisfaction at her  
handiwork.  
  
"Um, Nat," he said carefully, "isn't orange usually just an accent   
color? You know, some throw pillows, maybe a picture? A tiny  
picture?"  
  
"You hate it." Her face crumpled.   
  
"No!" Nick hastily put his arms around her and hugged her. "No, I  
don't *hate* it. I was just thinking that orange is such a *nice*  
color, we should use it sparingly. Then it's that much more  
*special*." He kissed her to soften the blow.  
  
She pushed him away and said, "You *do* hate it."   
  
"No, really, it's just so---different," Nick said placatingly. "I was  
used to the way it was before, that's all. Let's just live with it  
for a week or so, okay? Then we can talk about it." *And hire a good  
interior decorator*, he added silently.  
  
Nat smiled in relief and returned his kiss with interest. "You'll  
come to love it, I just know it."  
  
Interior decoration aside, Nick was glad to be home. It was strange  
and familiar at the same time, seeing the loft with his newly-mortal  
eyes. He decided it *had* been gloomy, but then, he had been able to  
see in the dark before, so he hadn't noticed. He also hadn't noticed  
what a drag it was to have to go up and down stairs all the time the  
hard way. Damn, he missed flying. *Oh well,* he thought, *life is  
full of little trade-offs.*  
  
The couple quickly settled into a blissful domesticity Nick would  
never   
have believed possible a year before. The sheer ordinariness of being   
human, of getting up in the morning and eating a bowl of Oatmeal  
Crisps   
thrilled him immeasureably.   
  
And of course, living with Natalie was as wonderful as he had often   
imagined it would be---as was her course of physical therapy. He   
found himself grinning a lot, for no particular reason at all.   
  
Going grocery shopping with Nat was like exploring uncharted  
territory, especially when he discovered that they gave out samples  
on Saturday mornings. There was a whole new world beyond Jell-O out  
there and he was finding it, one toothpick-skewered morsel at a time.  
  
Three evenings later found Nick experimenting with the new home gym  
he had had installed. He was fiddling with the weights on the seated  
row station when he heard Nat call in alarm, "Nick! There's someone  
at the skylight!"  
  
He let the weights fall back down on the stack with a crash and  
hurried out to the living room. It could only be one kind of  
visitor---the kind that didn't need to use the stairs.  
  
Vampires.  
  
Or burglars, of course, but they didn't usually knock, as these  
visitors were. That also pretty much ruled out Enforcers, who  
preferred the element of surprise, or Lacroix, who simply thought he  
could go wherever he wished. This had to be one of his old buddies  
come to call. At least he hoped it was.  
  
Nick joined Nat and craned his head upwards to try to identify the  
shadowy outlines on the other side of the glass. All he could see was  
a blur. "Come in!" he shouted. At Nat's look, he shrugged. "Hey, they  
knocked. How bad can it be?"  
  
The skylight creaked open and two forms dropped through to land  
silently on the floor in front of them. "Hi, Nick! Hi, Nat!" said the  
smaller of the two.  
  
Nick and Nat stared in silence at their visitors.  
  
Nick turned to Nat and said conversationally, "No, I refuse to  
believe this. I'm hallucinating, right? Is it the coffee? I knew I  
didn't like that stuff. Or is this National Return from the Dead  
Week, and I missed the notice in the Globe and Mail? First Schanke  
and Cohen, now Tracy and, uh..."   
  
He examined the other visitor more carefully---a neatly dressed young  
man, hair carefully razor cut, wearing chinos, a Ralph Lauren Polo  
shirt, polished loafers, and a miserable expression. He looked  
vaguely familiar, somehow. Nick marshaled his detecting skills, put  
two and two together and reached the inevitable conclusion.  
  
"Vachon?" Nick turned to Nat again. "Tell me that's not Javier  
Vachon, slacker extraordinaire." His voice took on a pleading note.  
"Please."  
  
Nat looked the pair up and down. "Yup, I'm afraid it is. I must say  
he cleans up nicely," she added admiringly.  
  
Nick shot her a suspicious look.   
  
"Surprise!" Tracy said brightly, flashing a shiny new set of fangs.  
"Guess who saved my life!"  
  
"Merde." It was too much. For the second time in a week, Nick  
fainted.  
  
And once again he regained consciousness surrounded by familiar but  
unexpected faces. *I've got to stop doing this,* he thought. *It's  
getting monotonous.* He heaved a sigh. "Okay," he announced, "let's  
hear it. I can guess most of it, but why don't you tell the story in  
your own words?" He settled himself more comfortably against the  
orange pillow in the corner of the couch where Vachon had deposited  
him and scooched over to make room for Nat.   
  
"It's pretty simple," Tracy said. "I was dying. Vachon came to my  
hospital room and brought me across. He used that hypno thingie on  
the nurses, the doctor, Grace, the substitute medical examiner, the  
mortician, the..."  
  
Nat held up her hand. "Whoa, whoa. Are you telling me he whammied all  
those people? When'd you find the time, Vachon?"  
  
He said defensively, "Hey, I can work fast when I have to. I tucked  
Tracy away up on the roof, and there just happened to be a spare Jane  
Doe in the morgue---it was easy. Nothing to it. I switched bodies,  
planted a few suggestions, and got out of there. With Tracy, of  
course."  
  
Tracy continued, "We've been staying at the Royal York while we look  
for somewhere decent to live. I mean, I wasn't going to stay in the  
church---euww! Cobwebs. No hot water." She linked arms with her  
master and beamed at him. "Did you know that Javi has all sorts of  
money stashed away? We're going to Europe next week on a grand tour.  
There're oodles of museums and things I've been dying to visit!"  
  
Vachon threw Nick a somewhat desperate look. Nick could tell the  
ex-conquistador needed to talk. "Nat? Tracy? Uh, give us guys a  
minute?" He made elaborate hand motions at Nat over Tracy's head.  
  
Nat took the hint and nodded vigorously. "Sure. I'd love to hear  
about how Tracy's adjusting---you know, add a few data points to my  
research." She grabbed the newly-minted vampire's sleeve. "C'mon,  
Tracy, we have a bottle of 'sangria' we keep in case Lacroix drops  
in---let's go talk." She tugged her in the direction of the kitchen.  
  
Nick said, "Upstairs," and the men trudged up to the far bedroom, out  
of range of even the most curious fledgling's hearing.   
  
Vachon flopped down on the bed and groaned. "Knight, she's driving me  
crazy. What have I gotten myself into? I mean, I love her and I'm  
glad she's one of us---I mean, a vampire, not *us* since you're not  
one of *us* anymore, oh hell, you know what I mean---I just wish..."  
  
"...that she wasn't your fledgling, right?" Nick finished.   
  
Vachon groaned again, more theatrically this time. "Look at me! She  
made me get a haircut! And these clothes! She even makes me wear a  
helmet when I ride the bike!" He moaned softly, then continued.   
  
"I *liked* the way I was. No one expects much of you when you look  
like that, you know? Footloose, irresponsible, messy--I loved it. And  
now...I have a credit card, fergodssake! Disgusting. Even Screed  
won't hang around with me any more."  
  
Nick clutched his head as if in pain. "Not another one."  
  
Vachon nodded. "We dug him up two weeks ago, and boy, was he pissed I  
waited so long."  
  
Nick asked apprehensively, "He's not going to visit, is he? I can't  
take another resurrectee dropping into my life."  
  
Vachon shook his head. "Nah, I don't think so. He never much cared  
for you as a vampire. As a mortal, I think he'd just laugh. I know he  
and Lacroix were having a good giggle the last time I saw them at the  
Raven. They have a regular chess game, you know."  
  
Nick stared. "You're kidding. Lacroix hates carouches."  
  
"I dunno about that. They play every Friday. You should hear them  
talk  
politics while they're at it. I think they've redesigned every major   
government in the world by now."  
  
Nick was nodding slowly, over and over, as if he had just recognized  
a Great Truth. "It's because I'm cured. Everything's upside down.  
Everyone who was dead is not dead, Lacroix socializes with carouches,  
you turn into a yuppie...I wonder," he said musingly, "what will be  
next?"  
  
Of course he knew what would be next. His ex-master had not showed up  
yet, and Nick had been home for an entire week. Perhaps, he  
theorized, Lacroix had visited him while he had been in a coma. Yes,  
that must be it---Lacroix had dropped in, lectured his unconscious  
form about how ungrateful he was, yadda yadda yadda, and then had  
gone off in a patrician huff.   
  
The question remained, why hadn't he come back for Part Two of the  
lecture---the part that involved a reprise of Paris 1228? Nick was  
uneasily aware that the next shoe was going to have to drop  
eventually. And Lacroix had all the time in the world to drop it.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
Somehow another week went past without any paranormal visitations,  
and Nick gradually relaxed and continued to find out what life was  
like on the sunny side of the planet.   
  
One discovery he made was that enormous vintage Cadillacs were not  
particularly suited to driving in rush hour traffic. Trying to  
maneauver the teal green land cruiser through downtown Toronto left  
him sweating and swearing. There were no conveniently empty parking  
spaces on the street directly in front of his destination, either,  
and the Caddy didn't fit in most parking garages. As for the highway,  
the 401 was a nightmare of weaving cars either bumper to bumper at  
130 kph or at a virtual standstill.  
  
(Author's Note: Allow me to interject a word or two about Toronto's   
effective and unique approach to highway traffic management.   
Encircling this large metropolis is a series of highways, notably   
the 401, which are six lanes wide in each direction. The rightmost   
three lanes are referred to as "collector lanes" while the leftmost   
three lanes are called "express lanes." One joins or leaves the  
thundering   
metal herd on the collector lanes, and changes lanes leftward to  
drive   
in the express lanes. Otherwise law-abiding Torontonians cheerfully   
ignore the posted speed limits and drive hell for leather on these   
highways, swerving left and right in a mad rush towards their  
destinations.   
Fortunately, they still politely use their turn blinkers to indicate   
their 130 kph lane changes, which at least gives the neophyte rush   
hour driver a klew. However, to someone used to driving in the middle   
of the night when the roads are relatively deserted, rush hour is   
almost an out-of-body experience.)  
  
Nat was philosophical. "Time to buy that Toyota, Nick. After all, you  
don't need the trunk space anymore."  
  
"But I *like* my car."  
  
"Well, like it after rush hour." She tried to sound sympathetic,  
although secretly she had never liked the Caddy herself. She felt   
like a little kid when she sat in that enormous front seat, and it   
had the turning radius of the USS Enterprise. Nat had never wanted   
to hurt Nick's feelings by insulting his pride and joy, but now she   
saw her chance to get a nice mid-size Camry or Infiniti into the   
family, preferably a non-teal green one.   
  
Nick sighed. "I'll think about it, but I think driving in the daytime  
just takes some practice. After all, the last time I had to maneauver  
a vehicle in the daylight, it was a horse-drawn cart."  
  
Nat kissed him. "Welcome to the twentieth century, Nick," she said,  
wondering when the best time would be to drop in his lap the new car  
brochures she had collected.  
  
Another two weeks went by, and Nick's former state of relaxation  
began to turn back into nervousness. He had heard absolutely nothing  
from Lacroix. Not a note, not a phone call, not a threatening visit.  
It was beginning to drive him crazy.  
  
Strangely enough, at the same time he also began to feel a little  
miffed. After all, he had been the center of Lacroix's fanatical  
attention for eight hundred years, the pursued object of his master's  
obsessive affections, and now...nothing.  
  
Nick found he didn't like being ignored. Not one little bit.  
  
Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. "Nat," he announced one morning  
over breakfast (toaster struedels and orange juice), "I'm going down  
to the Raven."  
  
"Ymrmwwhaaa?" Nat mumbled through a mouthful of hot, artificial  
pastry. She swallowed and gave him an incredulous look. "You're  
WHAT?" she repeated.  
  
He said resolutely, "I'm going down to the Raven to have a little  
chat with Lacroix."  
  
"Are you out of your medieval mind?!?" she exclaimed.   
  
"Nat, I can't believe he's going to give up this easily! It's,  
it's---unLacroixian. He's planning something diabolical, I just know  
it. I have to find out what it is."  
  
Natalie glared at him. "Nick, you've been trying to get rid of him  
for how many hundreds of years now?" She pointed to the scorch marks  
on the elevator door, mute testimonial to Nick's previous  
unsuccessful attempt to dump his daddy. "He's finally given up, he's  
woken up and smelled the coffee, the light has gone on and someone's  
finally home, Nick, it's over! Accept it and be happy!"  
  
But Nick was wearing his stubborn expression. He folded his arms and  
said mulishly, "I just need to see him. To make sure it's really over  
this time. This way it's just so--unfinished." He stared at Nat,   
daring her to stop him.  
  
"If you annoy him he might just finish YOU off!"   
  
Nick shook his head. "I have to know. It's not right this way."  
  
Nat threw up her hands. "Okay, have it your way! But," she stood up  
and grabbed her coat and purse, "I'm coming with you. You need one  
sane person there." She muttered viciously to herself, "Yeah,  
Lambert, let's go and watch your boyfriend commit suicide. Great way  
to start the day. He has to have a Saint George slaying the Dragon  
complex..." She snatched up another toaster struedel and marched down  
to the garage. Her exasperated voice floated back up the stairs. "Are  
you coming, or should I just kidnap the old bastard, stuff him in the  
trunk, and bring him back here so you can have your little  
tete-a-tete?"   
  
Nick went to the door and said worriedly, "Nat, I don't think you  
should..."  
  
"Stuff it, Knight, get down here and drive this boat!"  
  
The twenty-five minute drive to the Nightclub of the Damned passed in  
stony silence. Nick glanced sideways every so often at his true  
love's face, and prudently decided against trying to protect her or  
even reason with her. With the mood she was in, Lacroix would be a  
fool to try anything.  
  
At their destination, Nick unlocked the Raven's back door with his  
key and cautiously stuck his head inside. The back hall was deserted,  
and he couldn't detect any sounds from within. Presumably all the  
youngsters were safely tucked in down in the basement.   
  
He motioned for Nat to follow him, and was unsurprised when she  
brushed past him and marched into the front of the club. He hurriedly  
shut the door and went after her. "Nat, wait..."  
  
Nat stopped in the center of the dance floor, looked around, then  
headed for the door of Lacroix's office.   
  
"Natalie..."  
  
One look silenced him, and all he could do was follow her resolute  
form.   
  
She flung open the office door and a warm light spilled out. Nick  
stopped behind her and looked over her shoulder.   
  
His ex-master and former sister/daughter were sitting at a small  
table, glasses of blood at the ready. Lacroix was wearing a Maple  
Leafs sweatshirt with a pair of old sweatpants and sneakers. Janette  
had on a ratty bathrobe and a towel wrapped around her head. The  
front of the robe gaped open, and Nick couldn't resist a little peek  
for old times's sake.   
  
Natalie caught the direction of his gaze and applied her elbow to his  
middle with just enough force to redirect his attention to the more  
important matters at hand.  
  
Nick's attention was duly redirected. One astonished glance told him  
that his ex-family was in the middle of a hot game of Monopoly, and  
from the looks of it, Janette had invested wisely in real estate and  
utilities. Her piles of cash and deeds were significantly higher than  
Lacroix's. A further glance revealed that Janette's game piece was  
the shoe, while Lacroix's hand was hovering over the Scottie dog,  
just about to advance it down the board.  
  
They looked up inquiringly at the intruders. Lacroix raised his  
eyebrow and said courteously, "Good morning, Nicholas, Doctor  
Lambert. How nice to see you. Oh, I enjoyed your little thank-you  
card, Doctor. So thoughtful. Hallmark does indeed seem to have a card  
for every occasion."  
  
"Uh, you're welcome," Natalie stammered, her combative mood  
evaporated by the domestic scene before her.  
  
"Do come in and sit down," Lacroix invited.  
  
Nick and Natalie edged into the office and sat gingerly on the sofa.  
"Um, thanks," Nick said.  
  
"To what do we owe the honor of your visit?" Lacroix inquired. He sat  
back in his chair and waited expectantly, a gentle smile gracing his  
lips.   
  
Nick could only stare. Here again was another shock, right up there  
with all his friends turning up more or less alive. He had never seen  
Lacroix smile that way. It wasn't sardonic, sarcastic, snide,  
sneering, or sadistic. It was---serene. Yes, that was it. Serene. Or  
even perhaps seraphic, although Nick allowed to himself that that  
perhaps took alliteration a bit too far.  
  
Nick felt obscurely grateful that he didn't keel over this time---it  
would have been much too embarrassing.  
  
Janette was nodding. "Yes, mon cher, what a pleasure to see you. How  
are you finding mortal life? I do hope you're enjoying yourself---you  
have earned it, n'est ce pas?"  
  
"It's fine...I just came over to see, uh, to...I was wondering why  
you hadn't called..." Nick stammered.  
  
Lacroix chuckled. "Ah, I see. You were expecting me to drop in and  
kill you, weren't you? These last three weeks must have been very  
nervewracking. I do apologize."  
  
Janette tsked. "Really, Nicolas, you always expect the worst. You  
should---La! How do they phrase it?---'lighten up.'"  
  
Natalie blurted out, "What is *wrong* with you two?!?"  
  
Lacroix replied smoothly, "Why nothing, my dear. It's just that, with  
Nicholas now mortal, I find my life suddenly very quiet. For eight  
hundred years, you see, I had been subjected to the psychic backwash  
of Nicholas' unending misery and incessant angsting, which quite  
understandably made me a bit, shall we say, cranky."  
  
Natalie snorted and said, "I can well imagine."  
  
Nick protested, "Hey, wait a minute..."  
  
Lacroix continued. "The silence has been overwhelmingly blissful. I  
no longer feel like killing everyone in my path, which is quite  
novel. And," he gave Janette's hand an affectionate squeeze across  
the Monopoly board, "now that Janette is no longer my daughter, and  
of course no longer yours, Nicholas, I find we get on much better."  
  
"He cannot compel me to do as he wishes, and we have the most  
*delightful* arguments." Janette made a pretty moue. "Of course, it  
is not the arguments so much as the making up, is it, Lucien?"   
  
They smiled at each other fondly.  
  
Lacroix continued, "As a matter of fact, I have---excuse me, my dear,  
I don't mean to presume---*we* have decided to travel for a bit,  
starting in Europe. We'll send postcards, of course. We're leaving   
at the end of the week."  
  
"But what about CERK? What about the Raven?" Nick asked, at a loss to  
say anything more cogent to the situation. Anyway, he couldn't  
imagine Toronto without either of these institutions of the night.   
  
Lacroix waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, I've changed the format over to  
soft rock," he said. "So much more restful. The marketing department  
tells me we've picked up a fair share of the dental office market  
segment. In the evenings, we're broadcasting Art Bell and Doctor  
Laura. It's become very popular---I'm surprised you haven't tuned in  
yet."  
  
Janette added, "I love Art Bell---such a wonderful imagination. I  
must call him sometime and ask if he believes in vampires. It could  
be very amusing."  
  
"Now, now, Janette, don't start anything," Lacroix admonished her  
goodnaturedly. "We can't have people wandering around with cameras  
looking for us, now, could we? What would the Enforcers say?"   
  
Janette laughed prettily and tapped him on the nose. "For you, my  
dear, I will keep silent. At least for a little while."  
  
Lacroix beamed.   
  
Nick found the whole saccharine display rather nauseating, like the  
first time he had eaten a Hostess SnoBall--it was fuzzy, sweet, and  
wholly artificial. He just *knew* it was all an act, a setup designed  
to lull him into complacency. Sooner or later the Roman general would  
show his true colors.  
  
Lacroix returned his attention to Nick. "As for your little science  
experiment---don't worry about the Enforcers. I took care of that  
with a big donation to their legal fund." He shook his head  
sorrowfully. "Did you know that they are using lawsuits now instead  
of simply killing people? They find that the court system is actually  
more intimidating than death threats. Modern times, my boy, modern  
times. It's very sad."  
  
Silence fell in the room.   
  
Natalie stood up. "Well!" she said brightly. "That settles that! Have  
a lovely trip---we'll look forward to hearing from you. Nick, we  
should be going now. I'm sure our hosts want to finish their game and  
go to bed." She took his arm and tugged. "Nick!"  
  
Nick rose reluctantly. "I don't believe him," he hissed in Nat's ear.  
He glared at Lacroix.  
  
"Good-bye, Nicholas. Have a nice life," Lacroix said equably.   
  
Natalie dragged him out of the office. "C'mon!" She ignored her true  
love's protestations of dastardly plots and delayed, malicious  
revenge and headed for the car.   
  
"I know him---he'll never change!" Nick fumed as he fished the Caddy  
keys out of his pocket.  
  
As she settled in her seat, Natalie answered, "Well, *I* believe him.  
He's turned over a new leaf, Nick---either that, or he's been  
replaced by that actor guy on the Oatmeal Crisps commercials. I never  
realized," she said musingly, "how much they look like each other.  
Hmmm. Weird."  
  
~~~~~  
  
And so, as you can see, Gentle Readers, in the spirit of all the very  
best stories, everyone lived happily ever after.   
  
In the words of Shakespeare, "Jack shall have his Jill, naught shall  
go ill..." Or something like that.  
  
Well, that's true for *almost* everyone, but to be honest, being  
compelled by a beautiful if perky blonde vampire to bathe regularly  
and move into uncondemned housing couldn't really be considered a  
burden. All complaints from Vachon, therefore, will be totally and  
cheerfully ignored.  
  
Finis.  
  
  
  
  



End file.
